


Strawberries & Blueberries

by Professor_Fluffy



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Fluffy/pseuds/Professor_Fluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony wants to feed the people he cares for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberries & Blueberries

Tony needs to feed the people he cares for. He makes overtures of friendship with food. If you've taken food from Tony’s hand, you’re his -- his to protect, his to feed, his to care for. 

The only time Tony clearly remembers being shown love and affection as a child were stolen moments in the kitchen with Jarvis, slicing up Strawberries and Blueberries, and mixing them in pancake and waffle batter; Jarvis frying sausages on a skillet, and Tony licking maple syrup from his fingers after he'd cleaned his plate. In the winter there were bowls of vegetable soup, and hot chocolate smothered with swirls of whipped cream. At some point, between the ages of five and twenty, these moments came to represent safety to Tony -- safety, security, and happiness -- all the things he'd been denied as a child.

Tony pulled up next to a street vendor and bought a crate of Strawberries. Tony loves strawberries. They remind him of summer, sitting at the counter helping Jarvis dip strawberries in chocolate shell for his mother’s friends, Jarvis patiently ignoring Tony’s very blatant strawberry pilfering. They’re calm and cool in his mouth, sweet, firm, like Pepper, his gorgeous Pepper, with her lovely strawberry blond hair.

She’s allergic to them. She can't help it that she's allergic to them. And he forgot. He curls in on himself. He can't even get this right.

Tony tries again. 

He hates to cook. He honestly can’t stand it. If Tony makes you a meal, if he so much as sticks a frozen pizza in the microwave for you, or goes anywhere near a cooking implement that doesn't relate to the three basic food groups -- coffee, coffee, and more coffee, it’s an outright declaration of love and affection. But how do you tell someone you love that you're going to die, that you're leaving them forever, with one sloppy gut-wrenching gesture?

The eggs are horrible. They look horrible. They’re runny. The spinach doesn't look appetizing at all.

And there it is -- the same look -- the look his father always gave him.

_I love you. Pay attention to me please. Listen to what I’m not telling you._

There's only disappointment, sad and palatable. 

Tony is tired. He misses Jarvis. He doesn't want to go home. He just wants to rest. Wants someone to say I love you. Even if it isn't vocal. A cold vending machine sandwich and a few days of peace would be enough. _But she can’t hear him._

 _Steve Rogers is a jerk._ But Tony can work with that. He can. He’s worked with it his whole life. 

He likes Bruce -- calm, quiet, shy, Bruce. Bruce puts up with his shit, defends his scientific need to experiment. Tony offers him blueberries as a reward, a gesture that offers him permanent irrevocable friendship, even if Bruce doesn't understand the nuances of the gesture. 

Tony is defiant as he offers Steve the same gesture. This time it's not a reward, he's testing the water, his stomach is a churning mess. This is his hero. He dressed up as this man as a little boy. His father showed Steve more affection and warmth, more genuine interest, than he ever showed Tony. But Steve Rogers doesn't like him. Maybe, he thinks, with time, he can see who Tony really is, see past the posturing. Maybe they can work together.

Steve declines.

Steve Rogers is a jerk. 

Tony doesn't like to be handed things, because accepting things means being obligated to other people. He doesn't want your files, your money, or your food, especially if he hasn't offered you his first. 

People can’t be trusted. 

Howard Stark spent Tony’s entire childhood handing him things -- money, cars, an education, and Tony gave him his love and affection. Then there was Obi. Tony gave Obi his trust, handed him his company, and Obi ripped the heart straight out of his chest. 

Never take something from someone if you don't want to be obligated in some way. Tony learned his lesson early on. He can still feel the folder Pepper handed him, warm from Phil Coulson’s body heat. He shivers and tucks his fingers under his arms to warm them.

Tony opens his eyes. They’re standing around him, looks of relief and concern on their faces. He can’t deal with it, not from his family, and they are his family --The Avengers -- they've survived an alien invasion together. He’s alive, thankful, and hungry. Maybe they are too? “Shawarma?” He chokes back a laugh.

Steve Rogers smiles at him, and looks up at the sky.

Pepper leaves him. He doesn't feel as bereft as he probably should. She smiles softly, and offers to help him re-build the Stark -- now the Avengers -- tower. They go through his blueprints together, looking out at the New York City skyline.

The next evening, a motorcycle pulls up in front of the tower. 

Tony’s sitting on the couch, his feet bare, face turned away; when his private elevator slides to a halt and Steve Rogers steps out.

“Captain?”

Steve takes a few steps forward and stops abruptly. “I came to say I’m sorry. That I was wrong.”

“It’s fine, Steve. It’s been a long day. You should be at home resting.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Tony?”

Tony turns to face him, looking away from the window.

“I brought you something.” Steve holds up a bag of organic blueberries, running a hand through his hair.

Tony sighs, some of the tension in his back easing. “Set them on the table please.”

Steve does, and turns to leave.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?

“Do you want to go grab a bite to eat?”

“Sure.”


End file.
